Thicker Than Blood
by Rhovanion
Summary: Yamato has the opportunity to follow his wildest dreams. And Taichi, struck down with a depression that only Matt can assuage, is his only obstacle. Choices, choices... // Shades Of Life sequel // Angsty Taito/Daiken, of course!
1. Of Being At Fate's Mercy

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ** Yes! The sequel to 'Shades of Life' is finally here! There's going to be mounds of Taito and Daiken angst, so if that's your thing, you've come to the right place! So sit back, get out your caramel-flavoured popcorn, and enjoy…   
  
This story is actually going to have a structured timeline! Whoopee-doo!   
  
The next chapter of "Memoirs…" should be out in a couple of days!  
  
**BIG, OMINOUS WARNING THINGIE: **Lots of Taito goodness, liberal amounts of DaiKen, fluff, angst, judicious Sora-bashing, overabundant use of the word 'almost'  
  
**BIG, OMINOUS DISCLAIMER THINGIE:** Not mine. Blame Toei.   
  
  
  
**February 10th – 4:16 pm **  
  
  
"This is pointless!"  
  
Ishida Yamato rocked back in his chair, flinging his pencil onto the table with a clatter. The page before him, bedecked with scribbled, crossed out and rewritten words, was the source of his frustration.  
  
"How can anybody be expected to write songs under these conditions?"  
  
The conditions in question – the perfect pre-spring Saturday, the lazy beams of golden sunlight, the peaceful tranquility of the apartment – were entirely unfitting to Matt's composition, making it nigh on impossible to draw the angsty, depressive inspiration that he needed. Adding to that the periodic emergence of his fluttering love-sickness, and his song stood less of a chance at being composed than pizza did around Taichi.  
  
For the umpteenth time in less than a week, words didn't seem to be cooperating with his creative energies. Normally, Yamato had no difficulty transferring emotion to paper. Normally, the blonde would have called up on his wide array of frustrations, anger, general discontent with the world; and those feelings would have spilled onto paper without a moment's hesitation. That was how most of his material was composed. Well, his life was far from normal, as far as Yamato was concerned. _Ever since that accident…_  
  
He was quick to shake the memory from his mind, unwilling to recall the nightmarish event, and even quicker to assure himself that Takeru was alive and well. It had surprised him how deeply he had felt that particular aftereffect of the trauma: the fear of his brother's life being extinguished so suddenly still hung like a pale shadow over him, barely perceptible yet impossibly persistent. Takeru, he reminded himself, was perfectly well-of and back in England, continuing with his scholarship program. Yamato might have preferred to have his brother a touch nearer, like in the next city, but he accepted that Takeru had his own life to lead and was able to take care of himself. Mostly.   
  
Matt came to the reluctant conclusion that, although the song would not write itself, he was in no state to come up with anything appropriate at that moment. Now, he felt like disentangling himself from that aspect of his life and reveling in the sheer bliss of being home alone; a rare chance for peace and quiet. Taichi was visiting his parents and Hikari, so he would most likely be tied down til late evening. Deciding that spending his afternoon mulling over misplaced and staling regret would not be the optimal pastime, Yamato allowed himself to search his mind for more comfortable thoughts. He landed on one almost instantly.  
  
Yagami Taichi.  
  
Taichi, for being the only one who had ever been able to rid Yamato of his perpetual negativity. For being irrepressibly loving, for making the worries of the world bypass him. It was Taichi's fault, he decided, that he was unable to write lyrics.  
  
It was two months, almost to the day, that their tumultuous relationship had been ignited. It had been surprisingly difficult at first. The awkwardness of the first few days had almost sprained Yamato's sanity: passing Tai in the passageway, a glance gone wayward, the almost feather-light touches had all seemed so foreign and discomforting that the blonde had speculated the degradation of their friendship. But it had not been so. As the days grew into weeks, their graceless conduct began to smooth itself out, like the leveling of an aircraft at its cruising altitude after a roaring takeoff. That seemed like a good allegory for their relationship.   
  
They had taken a risk, and they had endured it. On the day of their one month anniversary, as though in unspoken agreement, their had finally acclimatized to their bond. all that had been left to do was to make the rest of their acquaintances privy to it. Yamato's parents, though less than thrilled, had been understanding, and Taichi's had been as warmly accepting as ever. Their friends had seemed less shocked than expected, and Yamato had come to the conclusion that that had been the work of Daisuke's overactive disregard for discretion. Jun, the blonde recalled smugly, had turned a rather interesting shade of purple.  
  
Once all of the basics had been ironed out, Yamato had futilely believed that things would have gone rather more smoothly than before. That was a mistake; he and Taichi, ever the antagonizing pair, had been at each others' throats just like normal. It was almost as though nothing had changed between them. The brown-eyed boy was still the same old best friend, give or take a few kisses here and there.  
  
But changes had been extensive all the same. To Yamato, it seemed as though Taichi had softened, had been relieved of some great burden, and he found himself smiling whenever Tai entered the room. Yamato did not even want to contemplate the sappiness of that. Now that he had he become a sentimentalist deprived of angst, he refused to become sappy as well. But even that was difficult. The myriad of ways in which his fanciful imagination had conjured up an illusion of love had never contained the exhilarating, terrifying, chaotic quality that his love for Taichi did. It was like standing in the eye of a violent typhoon, utterly safe whilst uncontrollable wind and debris thundered just a foot away from him. Another metaphor, one of dozens running rife in his mind.  
  
Their relationship was not the stuff of 'happily ever after' fairytales; far from it. But Yamato had felt their trust and amicability strengthen by the day, two traits that he had feared would have been lost in the tumult of their new-found relationship. It had been amazing how his sudden love for Taichi had made them almost unnecessary as separate elements, almost like prerequisites for the whole.  
  
That particular train of thought was bringing him dangerously close to drowning in a swamp of fuzzy feelings. Yamato stood and stretched his shoulder muscles, then began wandering around the small apartment in search of some preoccupation. His glance was drawn to the stack of unopened letters that had begun accumulating on the hall table. He picked them all up, noting wryly that some of them dated at least two week back, and, after shoving aside a miscellany of items, found a comfortable perch on the living room couch. As he sank into the pillowed mass, Yamato began sorting the correspondence into important letters, fanmail and junk. The last of all was enclosed in the blue-tinted envelope of the Teenage Wolves' recording company.  
  
He lifted it up to the streaming sunlight, trying to decipher the contents. After realizing the futility of this, Yamato reached for the corner and tore it off. A sudden disquiet befell him. The blonde shifted uncomfortably, wondered at the niggling in his stomach and extracted the letter.  
  
Yamato read it once, lazily. He paused. Blue eyes wide with shock, he reread the printed words. His mind became suddenly both numb and frantically active. Just to be sure, he read the letter a third time. Then, it fell from his stunned hand.  
  
He had no words.  
  
**=#=#=#=**  
  
**11:38 am**  
  
The mall was just as busy as Ken had always known it. Turbulent masses of people, pressing and shouting, speeding past at in all directions and at varying degrees of urgency. Ken felt trapped. He had never been a fan of crowds or gatherings, and now he was feeling almost claustrophobic. He had always wished for the talent that some had when it came to other people: relating with them, being at ease, talking as easily as breathing…  
  
"This is great! Don't you just love the mall?"  
  
Ken spun quickly to the voice and carefully neutralized his face of discomfort. Daisuke was grinning broadly, looking as though all the cares in the world had decided to overlook him. Ken didn't want to spoil his joviality.   
  
"Sure. It's, um…great!" he managed to say, mustering as much enthusiasm as possible. Daisuke looked satisfied.  
  
The brunette sighed internally. Daisuke was one of those with inborn people-skills. His careless attitude, his comical personality, the glint in his eyes seemed to draw everybody to him. That made Ken feel partially jealous and, to an extent, dejected. Why did he have to share his Daisuke with the rest of the world? What did Dai even want with a boyfriend like him, who was so inept at socializing? And why couldn't he, for once, have more friends than he could comfortably remember?  
  
As they shoved their way through the unending stream of oncoming people, Ken felt the anger at his lot grow within him. He almost missed Daisuke as the boy stopped a moment later. The cinnamon-haired boy pointed to a small café.   
  
"Let's go sit down. All this walking has made me hungry."  
  
"Oh really? Have you ever not been hungry?" Ken retorted, unable to keep a tinge of sourness from his voice. At least they'd escape the crowds and the negative connotations that he had attached to them.  
  
Once they had found a booth and ordered their meals, Daisuke turned suddenly serious. It all happened with such lightening pace that Ken had to take a moment to register it.  
  
"What's up?" Daisuke was saying. "Why're you spacing out on me today? If there's something wrong, you know you can tell me."  
  
The earnestness in his voice made Ken's tight expression melt away. He wondered if he should share what was troubling him. Daisuke would probably not be able to comprehend Ken's dilemma or pass it off as a minor complaint. Nevertheless, he decided that it would only do him good if he revealed the problem, having learnt after months of companionship that silence was never the better option. He wavered between decisions.  
  
"Well, you see…" Ken began. "It's rather silly, I guess. It just seems that…" He was not given the chance to continue. Daisuke had spotted some acquaintances from across the room and stood up, waving and calling for them to join him. All worries forgotten, Dai began chatting furiously with one of the boys, his previous worries having completely abandoned his mind.   
  
Ken almost growled with frustration. "Never mind," he muttered to the now-empty chair before him.  
  
**=#=#=#=**  
  
**4:50 pm**  
  
_…has come to our attention that… after the debut recording of… little possibility for success, but… chosen as a finalist… full recognition… $40 000… Chicago, Illinois... four years abroad…  
_   
Yamato glared at the letter in his hand, daring it to defy its message. The letter glared back, equally adamant at making him believe it. For a moment the staring contest continued, then the dawning of realization began to overwhelm the blonde. Perhaps, he rationalized, if he read the letter out loud, it might facilitate in his comprehension of it.  
  
"The Teenage Wolves' proposed promotional tapes fell under sharp scrutiny; through much deliberation the aforementioned band was chosen as a finalist of the evolved/emerging markets and was submitted for international perusal. It delights us to inform you of the full recognition received for both the style and quality of music, as well as the offer of a recording contract to the value of US$40 000 with Steersmann and Company, located in Chicago, Illinois. As well as the generous financial support and four years abroad, it offers…" It all started to get a bit foggy at that point.  
  
Yamato was shaking with the sudden shock, unable to quite grasp the enormity of the situation. They had submitted those tapes almost a year ago. There had never been any real chance of their being chosen.   
  
And now?  
  
In one split second of unexpected surprise, all of Yamato's dreams and hopes had been realized. His wishes to be given an opportunity to propagate his music, to influence people on a global scale. To be known. In one awe-inspiring moment, he had received all this. Just like that. It was phenomenally confounding, almost unbearable. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He didn't know if he would be capable of either.  
  
He inhaled deeply in a useless effort to compose himself. His heart was thrumming erratically and searing his veins, he could barely control the muscle-deep shivering that had overwhelmed him.  
  
"The Teenage Wolves," he said slowly, searching for the correct phrasing, "Have just won a $40 000 recording contract in America."  
  
It hit him. For just a moment, he beheld the sheer scope of the matter. Yamato was surprised that he hadn't passed out from delirium yet. A moment later, his nature overtook his emotional rush and he became almost detachedly calm. He began rationalizing. He'd have to call all of the guys from the band, and Takeru, of course, and his parents. He'd tell Taichi and they'd all start making plans. Four years was a long time, but well worth it.  
  
There was a rattling at the front door and Yamato jumped a foot in the air from surprise. That meant that Taichi was home, and he'd be able to share the brilliant news. He quickly extricated himself from the couch and paced to the door in a buzz of adrenaline. The portal swung open.  
  
"Tai! You'll never believe what I just…"  
  
Yamato's words were cut off, hanging in the silent air as Taichi, his face drawn and tear-stained, barreled inside. Not even halting to exchange a word or a glance, the brown haired boy shoved past Matt, made for his room and loudly slammed the door.  
  
The sound ricocheted around Yamato's skull. He had been so far gone in his all-encompassing joy that he had almost disbelieved Taichi's expression. But now all thoughts of bliss were torn from his mind, replaced now by concern, confusion and icy dread. He had never, never seen Taichi that upset.  
  
Yamato walked softly to the closed door of Taichi's room. Finding it locked, he called softly, "Hey, Tai? What's going on? What happened?"  
  
The only answer that he got was a barely stifled sob.  
  
**=#=#=#= **  
  
Cliffhanger fun!  
  
Oh, and I finally got myself a website! It's pretty empty, but feel free to check out it www.geocities.com/sweet_dream24 !  
  



	2. Of Being Helpless, Tactless

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** This is a wEiRd chapter O.o Basically just filling out the plot a bit. Getting to the juicy bits in the next chapter probably. Much more angst next time, guaranteed!   
  
By the way, anybody who wants to be put on my mailing list to get updates on when I update (redundant, isn't it? ^_^), just mail me at sweet_dream24@yahoo.co.uk or tell me in your review! You were going to review, right? Yeah, sure you were...  
**  
BIG, OMINOUS WARNING THINGIE:** Lots of Taito goodness, liberal amounts of DaiKen, fluff, angst, judicious Sora/Jun-bashing, overabundant repressive teenagers...  
  
**BIG, OMINOUS DISCLAIMER THINGIE:** Not mine. Blame Toei.   
  
  
  
**February 10th – 6:13 pm**  
  
"Jun! Get the hell out of my here!"  
  
Daisuke stormed into his room, flinging the door open violently as he passed it. Inside, his incessant sister had made herself comfortable on his desk chair. Her one hand was lazily brushing through her disheveled hair; the other was casually paging through some of his papers. She barely glanced up at his entrance.  
  
"Hey 'Suke, that's a big word for you to be using," she remarked offhand, without breaking her eye contact on whatever she was reading.  
  
Without losing any of his forward momentum, Daisuke tore the pages from her hand and unceremoniously kicked the chair out from under her. He hardly considered that a suitable retaliation for her snooping, but he had far more significant issues on his mind. From the ground, Jun's eyes darkened as she wincingly rubbed her back.  
  
"Gee, somebody got up on the wrong side of the pigsty this morning," she muttered. Daisuke, after shoving the sheaves of paper back into a drawer, turned to her with an angry scowl.  
  
"Don't you have any respect for privacy, oh sister dearest?" he scoffed.  
  
"Not yours. And besides," she continued in her suspiciously generous older-sibling voice, pasting an extremely fake smile on her face, "I was just tidying up for you."   
  
Daisuke groaned audibly, recognizing her ploy. "What do you want this time, Jun?" She must have been at the edge of desperation to be seeking his help.  
  
"Me? Can't a girl just be nice to her brother without having any hidden motives?"  
  
"Can it, Jun! Make it quick, and then get the hell out of here. I have stuff to do."  
  
"Well," she began in that saccharine sweet tone, lifting herself gingerly from the floor. "You know that little friend of yours, the one with the black hair?" The question reeked of something that Daisuke would rather not have thought about.   
  
"Yeah, Ken. What about him?" he asked, barely concealed mistrust in his voice.  
  
"I was just thinking that, since Yamato's playing hard to get and all that, and ever since that one day two weeks ago when…"  
  
"Just get to the point!" Daisuke barked, and then instantly regretted it.  
  
"Can I have his number?"  
  
The colour drained out of his face. With eyes aghast, he leveled his sister with the most hateful stare he could conjure up. "What? No way! Do I look like a dating service or something? I don't just load my friends off onto my maniac sister, you know!" Jun's catty expression was back in an instant.   
  
"Fine," she snapped, turning on a heel. "But don't expect me to forget your generosity any time soon, bug-face!" She pranced off, slamming the door behind her. It was only once the portal had been firmly closed that Daisuke let out a gasping breath. He had come up with the best excuse that he could have in what limited time was afforded him. Jun didn't know about him and Ken. She couldn't know…  
  
Daisuke threw himself onto his bed, pressing his flushing face into the cool feather pillow. He didn't even want to contemplate how quickly Jun's gossip-hunger would spread the rumour of their relationship. Besides, he had far more vital considerations to make. Like discovering the reason for Ken's obvious discomfort during that day's outing and, more importantly, his reasons for trying to hide it.  
  
Deciding to utilize the tried-and-tested Motomiya trait of talking before thinking, he lifted the telephone handset from his bedside table, made sure that the loudspeaker option was off and dialed, from memory, the Ichijouji residence.  
  
The phone rang for a long time. Just as Daisuke's patience was starting to wear thin, though, he distinguished the sound of the phone being answered. "Hello?" came Ken's hesitant voice.  
  
"Hey Ken, what's up?" Daisuke said, making an effort to keep his tone light. The response confounded him.  
  
"What do you want, Dai?"  
  
"Well, do I need a reason to call one of my friends?"  
  
He almost felt Ken roll his eyes on the other end of the line. "So now I'm just 'one of your friends'?"  
  
"Jun's in the next room," Daisuke bit back sourly. "And I bet you a thousand Yen she's listening by the door!"  
  
There was a momentary, terse silence. "What do you want? I'm sure that you have far more interesting things to do than to talk with me, ne?"  
  
It took a while for Daisuke to recuperate from the shock of those words. What had prompted such a cynicism in Ken? "Listen, Ken, what's going on here? 'Cause it's pretty obvious that you're angry at me for something. Just tell me what I did and I'll apologize, okay?"  
  
"I have homework to do. See you sometime." And without further elaboration, the opposing receiver was replaced in its cradle.  
  
Daisuke let the shrill ringtone echo in his ear.  
  
**=#=#=#= **  
  
**6:12 pm**  
  
"Did somebody die?"  
  
Yamato, leaning against the irregular paneling of Taichi's locked door, tried to gain some response from the occupant of the room. After his sudden and anguished entry, the brown-haired boy hadn't uttered a single word, for all that Yamato had prompted, and the blonde no longer had memory of his previous ecstasy. Now, easily an hour later, he, starting to get both uncomfortable and apprehensive, was pulling out his last remaining trump card.  
  
"Taichi, did someone die?" he repeated, seemingly vainly.  
  
Then he heard the creaking of somebody stirring within, and Taichi's voice coming rough and choked. "No."  
  
It was an answer, at least, and at even that small progression Yamato was hopeful. Quickly, so as not to lose the rapport, he asked, "Do you have a terminal illness?"  
  
This time the answer came more quickly, more sure of itself. "No."  
  
"Well, are we breaking up?"  
  
"No – "  
  
Yamato sighed with frustration. He had been counting on more-than-one-word answers, but none seemed forthcoming; he couldn't think of any other possible reasons for Taichi's apparent misery. He decided to stand and try the more direct approach.  
  
"Well then, get the hell up and open this door!" He channeled all of his aggravation into his voice. "If you're trying to worry me, you're doing a brilliant job! And, you know, I can't help you if I don't know what the problem is."  
  
The words seemed to illicit a response from the room's locked in occupant. _Success! _Yamato thought as hesitant steps approached the door, fumbled for the key and finally twisted the door handle. The blonde immediately glanced inside, and had the words stunned out of him by what he saw.  
  
Taichi was wearing the most disheveled clothing imaginable: the material looked wrung out in places. His hair did not hold even a smidgeon of what little normal order it usually possessed. From the darkened and upturned room very little could be distinguished, yet from the gloom stared two dull reddened eyes that were set in a face pale with sadness, streaked with dried tears; but on which the distinctive red mark of a slap could be seen slowly turning purple. Taichi looked above all fatigued as he teetered uncertainly. In all, he looked so forlorn and emotionally unbalanced and so unlike his usual state of relaxed joviality that Yamato's heart skipped its next beat.   
  
On his first instinct, the blonde stretched out his arms and caught Taichi in an encompassing hug. He felt the dead weight settle against his frame, the shaky arms slip about his waist and the single shuddering sigh that the boy in his arms expelled. He stroked the mop of unruly hair, whispering comforting nothings. He wondered at how many times Taichi had held him in a similar position. The role reversal was distinctly discomforting.   
  
After what seemed like an ample time, the blonde pulled back slightly and leveled Taichi with a glare. "Come on, let's sit down and you can tell me all about it." He directed them to Taichi's bed, onto which the brown-haired boy collapsed in a heap of dejection.  
  
"It's all my fault."  
  
_Well, at least that's a full sentence this time_, Yamato thought with chagrin, suddenly gaining a boost of respect for those who comforted others for a reason. _I'm not this difficult when I'm depressed, am I?  
_  
"Just start at the beginning, Tai," he cued. "What's the issue?"  
  
But his question received no response. Taichi pulled his knees to his chest and clasped his arms firmly around them. "I should never have moved out. I knew this was going to be a bad idea."  
  
Yamato perceived that discretion was the better part of valour in this occasion. Slipping a gentle arm around his tensed shoulders, he allowed Taichi to speak.  
  
"Never even saw it coming. You know, like stepping onto a quiet road and getting hit by a car. I should have seen it! What kind of a brother am I? Now Kari's suffering too. That's the worst of it. It isn't fair for her to get hurt when I'm the one to blame. And you know what?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Nobody would even believe me if I told them that there was something going wrong. Not that I knew, of course… We were always the model kind of family. Nobody would even have guessed that… that something like this could happen! Gah, I just hate myself for not seeing all this earlier: it's so obvious! I could have stopped it! I should have." Taichi fell silent, and a solitary tear slipped down his cheek.  
  
Yamato, filled with heart-wrenching compassion, reached to wipe it off of the bruised face. "So what is it, Tai? What's the problem?" he asked gently.  
  
"It's all my fault," he repeated for the umpteenth time. "All my fault that my parents are getting divorced."   
  
**=#=#=#=**  
  
The plot thickens… O.o  
  
  



End file.
